Loyalty
by Erimenthetic
Summary: It's a difficult thing to have killed the galaxy's best hope at survival. It's a more difficult thing to be the galaxy's best hope at survival. Eventual Shoker.
1. Grounded

The pulsing bass of Dark Star isn't enough to burn Joker's thoughts away, and neither is the fifth shot of alien liquor.

_Grounded_.

It'd taken the court martial less than an hour to remove his wings. Fucking kangaroo court.

So what if he'd stolen the Normandy twice? He'd paid for his sins the first time, and saved the galaxy the second. Gotten a fucking medal for it too. But now he was 'unstable'? A fucking 'liability'? While reg breaking Alenko made Commander?

Well fuck that, and fuck Alenko for going quiet about the Reaper threat. Joker slams another shot, adding the empty glass to his growing graveyard.

After Alchera, Joker had been careful to stay away from alcohol. Because when you'd just killed your CO, one beer was hard to differentiate from twelve, and that shit would get you grounded. Properly drunk now, Joker can appreciate the irony.

The world tilts precariously. Shit. This is why he doesn't drink. He's definitely going to break something tonight. He gestures to the bartender for another. Maybe the Turian pouring drinks will just let him sleep here.

If they'd wanted to ground him for killing Shepard, Joker would have understood, hell, he wouldn't have even fought it. But that's not the reason his wings are gone. For fuck's sake, they let him fly for almost two months before it became obvious he wasn't planning to forget the word 'Reaper' as instructed. Only then had the charges been brought.

There's a thought that deserves a drink. Joker's pretty sure the secrets of the universe are at the bottom of this bottle. Won't be sure until he gets there, of course, so he chugs the beer. Nope. Maybe the next one. Definitely one of the next three, though the bartender is giving him that look like he's one hiccup away from being cut off for the night. Shit.

The stool beside him gains an occupant, bar stool squealing a little as it turns to face him.

"Hello," his new neighbor says, voice just the right amount of throaty. He thinks about flirting with the perfect legs (can't be bothered to look any further up), but one night stands aren't really, _can't really_, be his thing. 'Do be careful not to shatter my pelvis' is a pick-up line with a standard return somewhere between nervous laughter and open-mouthed horror.

"Not my type," he says instead. No, his type is more along the lines of _knows condition, knows to be careful, won't leave after snapping my tibia_.

The woman snorts, and alright, to be fair, probably she's everyone's type. Nice curves, pretty face, tiniest little gap between her front teeth so that all you can think about is her hot, wet mouth.

"The name's Miranda Lawson, Mr. Moreau."

Shit. If she knows his name, that means she's Alliance, and if she's Alliance, that means he's about to be dishonorably discharged. He picks at the label on his empty bottle. It's not a huge surprise, though he'd hoped- What had he hoped? That someone would figure out the Reapers were real? That they'd put him at the helm of a new ship and let him figure out how to do right by Shepard? He's not usually one for blind optimism.

"Fuck off and court martial me in the morning."

"I'm not Alliance, Mr. Moreau," the woman says, and if she were talking to a wad of gum on the bottom of her shoe, the tone would probably be the same. "I've come to offer you a job."

"Ah, my mistake. In that case, just fuck off." He motions for the bartender to bring him another, but the woman waves the Turian off.

"Fuck you, lady, can't you see-"

"My sources lead me to believe that you were interested in stopping the Reaper threat. Was I misinformed?"

And he's definitely had too much to drink for this conversation. Or possibly not enough. "Who the hell are you, and what the fuck do you know about me?"

Four perfectly manicured nails drum against the bar. "Miranda Lawson, Cerberus. I oversee the Lazarus Project." Cerberus, it sounds familiar, but Joker can't place it. "You are Jeff Moreau, Alliance. Best helmsman since the invention of FTL technology. Grounded because you won't shut your mouth."

He sighs. "So you have extranet access. Should I be impressed?" He is, though, despite himself. Chick must be a journalist. He'd give her an interview if it didn't come with a side helping of treason. Knowing his luck she works for the _Universal Enquirer_ or some shit. The thought of "Reaper Force Threatens Galaxy" running beside "Star of 'Blasto' Admitted for Rehab" is one part hilarious and two parts nauseating.

She ignores his comment and hands over a datapad, flicking through the screens faster than his blurry vision can keep up. "These are the orders you're set to receive when you get your wings back."

"You hacked the Alliance?" Joker asks, though he can't bring himself to feel the outrage he probably ought. He scans the document. They're planning to lift his suspension, he'll get to fly again.

Then he reads the document again. Shuttle duty. On the Citadel cargo route. Automated flights, pilots on board only in case of emergency. Maybe he'll see if the Turian will pour him a couple shots of Ryncol.

Lawson watches as his face falls, then changes screens. "These are your most recent medical charts, and this," another swipe, "is the medical plan our physicians have come up with. We'll replace or adjust your IM rods as necessary, then start you on a regimen of biophosphonates. You'll have access to Project Lazarus' top of the line physical therapists. In addition, we'd like to break, reset, and repair the fracture on your left femur with a cloned bone graft."

The woman rattles this off like a grocery list, but to Joker it's a world of possibility he's never let himself consider. The rods in his bones haven't been touched since they went in at age fifteen, and they've grown so that every step is a sort of burning torture. They're his third set, though, and by the time the doctor's had stitched him up after the procedure, he'd burned through his parents' retirement fund twice over. And everyone knows IM rods are an 'elective procedure' under Alliance insurance, even if they're the only things that allow him to walk.

Lawson's speaking again, "The frigate currently in construction for your use surpasses the Normandy on all technical fronts." She rattles off a list of specs, and the drive core alone is enough to make his head spin.

To fly again, to walk unaided, it's unthinkable. It's a dream. It's-

"Cerberus," Joker spits. He remembers now. Remembers Kahoku, remembers the Rachni, remembers Toombs.

Lawson turns half a smile his way, completely confident he won't be able to resist the offer in front of him. "Cerberus indeed, Mr. Moreau. Do we have our helmsman?"

"Let me get this straight," Joker says. "You look at me and see a broken man with authority issues. And you think that because I'm verbal about my disagreement with the brass I'll sign on with the first terrorist group with a fucking ship. You think that my disease makes me morally bankrupt, and that I'll sell my soul for some metal rods."

Rage burns through him, white-hot, until he's shaking. Joker presses both palms flat against the bar, struggling not to clench them into fists.

"Let me tell you something, Cerberus. Those marines you experimented on? They were my brothers. The soldiers slaughtered on Akuze? They were my sisters. I would rather die than betray them. I may just fly the damn ship, but it's an Alliance ship."

The Cerberus operative refrains from rolling her eyes, though it's a near thing. "Very noble, I'm sure." Lawson pulls up another screen on the pad held in Joker's white-knuckled grip. "This," she says, "is project Lazarus. Our plan to destroy the Reaper threat."

More than half the document has been redacted, but what remains tells one clear story. Cerberus believes Shepard.

But it's Cerberus.

Joker went to one counseling session after Akuze. He hadn't slept for four days, and he thought he was ready to hear 'survivor's guilt' and 'PTSD' like such common terms could describe the hell inside his head. He hadn't gotten the meds he was after, but he did remember the look in the woman's eyes when she'd told him, "When you kill someone, Mr. Moreau, it becomes incumbent upon you to live for two instead of one."

He's fucking fine watching the Universe burn if no one will heed the warnings. Hell, right now he might light a match. But Shepard wouldn't.

The silence stretches. Maybe if he's quiet long enough, the woman will leave and take the choice with her.

"I'm listening," Joker says at last.

Lawson smirks. "Excellent. I never settle for anything less than the best." One more swipe at the screen reveals an address, date, and time. "There's quite a bit more to tell, Mr. Moreau. I hope to see you there."


	2. The Lazarus Project

Joker would tape his own eyes open and watch the Blasto sequels on repeat for six days before he'd admit it, but he likes Kelly. Don't get him wrong, the yeoman is obviously snitching on all of them to the Illusive Man. She's a horrible spy, and honestly, _yeoman_? There haven't been yeomen in space since the invention of a functioning VI. But she spies on everyone, even Miranda, and the pinched expression Lawson gets whenever Kelly's nearby makes it all worthwhile.

And maybe he likes that Kelly doesn't exempt him from her universal flirting. Even before his Cerberus sponsored surgeries, she'd always made it quite clear that she'd take him to bed. He's not interested, or even flattered (it's not exactly an exclusive group), but he appreciates that the Vrolik's wasn't an issue. Likes that she makes him feel normal.

She's sitting beside him now in the co-co-pilot chair of Cerberus' gigantic MSV Lhoste, fingers flying furiously, probably sending another report to her boss.

"Would you say Miranda was tetchy after returning from Fehl Prime?" Kelly asks, fingers paused. "Or maybe agitated?"

Joker suppresses a grin. He'd say Miranda was bitchy. _Is_ bitchy. All the fucking time. Hell, she'd chewed Jacob out like he'd been the one to wipe the Alliance research station's hard drives. Bad luck that the one Collector attack to leave survivors for clean up was also the one they most needed information from.

The ship slides into the docking bay, perfectly, despite the fact that the Cerberus cruiser is more brick than boat. The Lhoste is no Normandy, but Joker has her dancing just the same. Not that any of these Neanderthals know enough to appreciate his superb flying. He could save their asses from an erupting volcano and they'd complain he'd let in too much ash.

"Mr. Moreau." Miranda's voice could curdle milk. If Joker's nearly come to enjoy working for Cerberus (if they've yet to have success against the Reapers, at least it's not for lack of trying), Miranda is his personal reminder not to get too comfortable.

He quirks an eyebrow in her direction because he knows it irritates her not to get a verbal response.

"You will be disembarking at Lazarus station today. There's something you need to see."

Joker's gut clenches. In the eleven months he's flown for the Lazarus Cell, he's never set foot on the station which bears the same name. He drops and picks up Miranda and Jacob, and then returns to Bethany station where he's housed. As far as he knows, no one else on the team has ever been inside Lazarus.

Is this the part where they begin experiments on his crippled ass? This is why you don't sign on with a terrorist organization, Jeff. Shit. They sure did a fine job fixing his rods if they were just planning to kill him. They wouldn't waste an investment like that, right?

Joker's nearly nauseous with nerves as he stands and follows Miranda to the airlock. The door cycles open to reveal a shuttle bay nearly identical to the one on Bethany station. No smears of blood and gore, and that's a good, clean sign. Or the sign of a good cleaning staff.

Miranda makes two lefts, then a right through a door which requires a retinal scan to unlock. There's someone in the hallway in front of him. Torturer? Scientist? Is there a difference?

The woman turns, and her pale gray hair parts to reveal a face he knows well.

"Doc?" Chakwas is supposed to be back at Bethany, helping to design a state of the art mobile medical center. As Joker nears, it's clear she's been crying, her eyes puffy and red. "Karin?"

"Oh, Jeff." She grabs his hand, her fingers trembling as they squeeze his own.

Doc didn't cry after Jenkins, nor after Virmire. She's stitched up wounds and healed soldiers for longer than Joker's been alive, and whatever's through that door has made a wreck of the unflappable Chakwas.

"What's the matter? What have they done?"

Chakwas just shakes her head, eyes filling with fresh tears. "Go. Go see."

He spins and pushes past Miranda into the room Chakwas points to. The familiar smell of disinfectant and hospital hits his nose, and he feels queasy all over again with thirty years of remembered pain. The lights glare off pale floors and walls. There must be ten beds in the room, but only one is occupied.

"Who have you hurt?" he asks.

Dread dogs his steps, and it takes Joker twice as long to cross the room as it should. The sheets are folded into tight corners at the foot of the bed. The heart rate monitor beeps its soft rhythm. It takes more willpower than he'd like to admit, but finally Joker forces himself to look.

The figure on the bed is Shepard.

The rooms spins, and Joker has just enough presence of mind to find a chair before his legs absent themselves.

Shepard.

What the fuck has Cerberus done? Hallucinogens? Maybe he's suffered from some sort of psychological break. The chest of the body before him rises with breath, and Joker wants to die. There is no finer torture than this.

The not-Shepard has scars across her cheeks, glowing orange with cybernetics. Her hair is limp and lifeless. The real Shepard is dead, he watched her get spaced. He's the reason she got spaced.

"What have you done?" Anger makes his voice shake. Is nothing sacred here?

"I thought you'd be pleased, Mr. Moreau."

"Pleased? You think I'll be pleased over a clone? Shepard's body burnt up entering the atmosphere of Alchera." That's why they'd buried an empty casket. There weren't even dog tags to put in the ground.

"This is no clone. Shepard is back from the dead. Soon to be hale and whole. Her suit did a remarkable job protecting her body, all things considered. Most of what you see here is augmented by extensive skin, muscle, and bone weaves, but the damage was repairable."

_The Lazarus Project_. He gets it now. Hilarious. They've made a fucking zombie, because heaven forbid she be allowed to rest in peace.

"She couldn't have had more than three hour's worth of oxygen. Even if you somehow got her breathing again, she's brain dead. Why-" He has to swallow back a knot of emotion before he's able to finish his question. "Why would you do this to her?"

"You will find I am not defeated by the constraints of modern medicine, Mr. Moreau."

She's a fucking mad woman. No. This is unacceptable. Shepard gave her life to save him, and he won't sit idly by while these monsters use her body as a plaything. Two years of limbo is enough.

Joker stumbles to his feet and grabs at the IV line. He tears away the sensors which mottle Shepard's body. If this is the only thing he can do for her, Joker will make sure she dies.

Miranda's pistol clicks softly as it unfolds, the barrel resting against his forehead. "Step away from the Commander, Mr. Moreau, or I will put a bullet through your skull."

Is it a good use of the life Shepard sacrificed for him to save her body from desecration? Uncertainty makes him stagger backwards.

"Let her go."

"I assure you, Mr. Moreau, that Commander Shepard is very much alive, _with _brain function. We waited until she had woken to inform both yourself and Doctor Chakwas."

Miranda begins the process of replacing the sensors. Joker can't see through the tears in his eyes. "She woke up?"

"Yes, Mr. Moreau, yesterday. We expect to have her ready to direct the attack against the Collectors by the end of the month."

She woke up. Shepard woke up. Shepard is alive.

Joker grabs one of Shepard's hands, the skin soft and uncalloused, but warm. He sits and sobs.


	3. Home Again

"What do you think, Commander? Pretty nice digs, right?" Chambers has just left them alone in Shepard's quarters after completing the grand tour, and Joker's commandeered the swivel chair at her desk to spin in. Every rotation shows him the same shell-shocked expression on the Commander's face as the pass before.

It takes her a minute to respond. "I'm supposed to think the aquarium is a waste of resources, right? It's kinda nice though, I've never had a pet." She presses her palm flat against the glass, peering into the empty water. "Unless you count street rats?"

"This isn't a children's vid, Shepard. No one counts the _rats_."

She laughs. The sound bubbles in his blood, and Joker wonders if it will always feel like this. Like every quirk of her lips or ringing footfall, like every proof of life is a gift meant just for him. Tiny mercies he has no chance of deserving.

Joker stops the spin of his chair just long enough to return her smile. There's not much in the way of safe conversational subjects, but he figures Cerberus hate has to be on the list. "You know your room's bugged, right?"

Her nose scrunches in displeasure as she nods. "And Chambers and Lawson are both reporting my every move."

Never misses a trick, his CO.

The drawers slide open and bang shut as she inspects each one, whether she's sweeping for bugs or just inspecting the contents, Joker can't tell.

"Is it weird that they had clothes tailored for me? I mean, sure, I was naked on Lawson's operating table for the last two years, but clothing measurements could have waited until I was awake."

"Would have made the two firefights you've gotten into in the last 24 hours a sight more interesting," Joker says. "And bravo, by the way. Outpacing your own record for inciting violence and with flair."

"One of those started before I was even awake, I hardly think I can be held responsible." He hums noncommittally. "You know Tali wasn't surprised to see me alive?"

And so the safe subjects are dismissed. Well Joker's not going to tell her that he sent messages to the whole crew of the SR-1 three weeks ago when he found out she was alive. Because telling her that would mean telling her that no one had come. Telling her that would be admitting that without her to guide them, everyone had given up the Reaper fight. That it's only him and Chakwas and a whole lot of empty space where there used to be family.

"Weird," he settles on saying. It's possible, after all, that everyone has been refusing his messages. If one of them had killed Shepard, he probably wouldn't be a very good pen-pal either.

Tension stretches between them until it's obvious he's failing some sort of friend-test. And this is why he keeps to the bridge. What is he supposed to say? Little known fact, his communication incompetence is not an act.

Shepard is the one to break the growing tension. "You're going to have to translate the engine specs you were drooling over into layman."

"I figured." He smears condescension into his voice. In distraction and avoidance, he's an ace.

Shepard turns from her inspection of the closet, mock outrage in her eyes.

"Hell, Shepard, any improvements Cerberus made stopped short of removing the glaze your eyes get the moment you hear 'Tantalus core.'"

"Someone should buy you an etiquette book," Shepard says.

"Not sure the market's there for _What to Say and Do When Your Commander Comes Back from the Dead,_" he answers.

Shepard kicks the chair's height lever in retaliation, sending him plummeting six inches. "If I'm going to have to listen to engine jargon, I'm not really sure why I keep you around."

"No one is sure why you keep me around." The damn chair won't go back up, no matter how hard he pulls. "Maybe someone should write a poem to remind us. Let's see, what rhymes with Therum?"

"Shut up," Shepard says, but she's grinning.

He stretches, trying to pull some of the stiffness from his back. Even with Cerberus' work, walking tours are still bad fucking ideas. Seeing his baby was worth it though.

There's a frown on Shepard's face. "How's your arm?" she asks.

It takes Joker a second to place the question's context, and in that time Shepard seems to realize her mistake in chronology.

She drags her fingers through her hair. "Right, so that was dumb."

"It wasn't broken," he offers.

"Good," she says. "Good." Her death stands between them, impenetrable. "Are we, are we not supposed to talk about my being dead?" At Joker's blank stare, Shepard rushes on. "Because I get that, I can totally not talk about it. It's just-"

"A fucking big thing to not talk about."

She huffs out a hard breath that might be an aborted laugh. "Yeah."

"I think since you're the one who died, you're the one who gets to decide how much it's talked about. My arm was fine, sprained for a couple of weeks, nothing bad."

The topic is uncomfortable. _He killed her_ and they're here talking about his arm? But the tension is bleeding from her shoulders just the same.

"Sorry for the manhandling."

"I'm pretty sure when you save someone's life you don't have to apologize."

"Still," she says. "Come here." Shepard offers him a hand up, which he takes. When Joker's standing, Shepard wraps him in an embrace so tight it nearly hurts. He lets his own tentative fingers rest against her back.

They stand that way for some time. Eventually she whispers, "I'm so glad you're here."

He's pretty fucking sure that's his line, but she can have it, if she wants. "There's nowhere else I would be."

* * *

Their first stop is to the Citadel and Anderson, which surprises no one but Miranda. The XO's left gaping when they bypass Omega and the Illusive Man's directives. Her displeasure is felt if not heard.

The SR-1, born as it was of joint human and Turian interests, had received a prime docking location. The reserved bay between the Destiny Ascension and the Indomitable benefited from easy access to C-Sec and a dry/wet dock which allowed for repairs and inspection without towing.

The Normandy SR-2 is granted no such luxuries. Traffic control directs Joker to the ass end of the Zakera ward docks, and there's barely enough room to squeeze the Normandy between the ships on either side, one a decaying merchant vessel and the other a cluster of scrap metal held together with mass effect fields and a prayer. Still, it's nothing Joker can't handle, and the ship settles home perfectly.

The docking clamps, however, have seen one too many hulls, and they drag and scratch along the freshly painted surface, marring the Normandy's perfect body. Joker shudders. Maybe if he asks nicely, Shepard will pick up some touchup paint on her way back from meeting with Anderson.

The Commander's hand on his shoulder makes Joker jump.

"All good?"

His skin burns where her fingers sit. "Commander, can I get a mirror up here? You know, so I can see when someone's standing behind me?"

Shepard brushes microscopic lint from the lapel of her uniform, but while she's sporting the same black and white as the rest of the crew, the Cerberus logo is suspiciously absent. Joker would think they'd forgotten to add it if not for the line of fine stitches making a single x across her breast. "I'll look into it, Lieutenant."

The airlock hisses closed, and Joker brings up Shepard's feed. She's gone alone, no surprise as her only viable backup is a couple of Cerberus flunkies.

The video shows a city of transients living just outside the ship, a mess of alien life too unsavory or too ill to make it past C-Sec and into the wards proper. A wave of voices filter through Shepard's audio pickup, catcalls and pleas for help battering from all sides.

Then the scanner thinks Shepard's dead.

"I was listed as missing in action a few years ago," Shepard says. It's a lie. She was listed as killed in action. Because she was dead. Her empty coffin laid in state for three days while dignitaries came to play politics and grapple for power. The whole damned thing had been broadcast over the extranet. There's no way the Turian manning the scanner doesn't remember, but he lets her through anyway.

Then the human working the desk, Bailey, brings Shepard back to life with the press of a button. Seems there's no form of death which can keep her waylaid for long.

That's all Joker's able to watch, as the Presidium is one huge Faraday cage, and the comms cut out as the rapid transit car crosses the threshold.

Shepard's video returns an hour later, though she doesn't hail the ship. So it went well then. Joker lets out a disappointed sigh. He's not sure why he bothered to hold his breath. When the brass closes their eyes to something, they keep them closed.

She still hasn't said a word when the airlock finishes its decontamination process and Joker switches off the feeds.

Her presence is heavy behind him, and because he doesn't know what to say, he doesn't say anything.

"Two years." He knows, he remembers each day. "Two years and they've done nothing. Anderson wouldn't even tell me where Kaidan is."

"I'm sorry." Those idle words won't change anything, but they're enough to draw a weary smile from Shepard. She falls into the seat beside him.

"Set course for Omega."

The next time Joker sees her, Shepard's wearing a uniform with the Cerberus logo still attached.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was originally missing a scene break, sorry for any confusion. Thank you to everyone who has commented, favorited, or followed this story.


	4. Starting Over

Omega is a shit hole among shit holes, a last shelter for wild animals to curl up in and die. Also, it looks like the sort of place to give you lice or ticks or scale itch (and why can humans get scale itch?), which makes Joker exceptionally glad he's watching from the safety of the _Normandy_'s cockpit. Bridge. Whatever.

Afterlife has embraced the station's rotting atmosphere with open... arms. The music is loud enough to be deafening, even in the VIP section where the club owner sits, and the fuscia lighting may just be the only color Asari don't look good in. Whoever designed this place should be charged with crimes against humanity.

"Well, aren't you sweet." The Batarian's voice drifts over the comms. "You're in the wrong place, Honey. Stripper's quarters are that way."

Joker knows a moment of terror for the unnamed Batarian, even as he switches out Shepard's feed for Miranda's. Sure he feels a little bad for the guy, but that doesn't mean he's going to miss out on a show.

Shepard has three different guns visible on her armor, but to Joker's great disappointment, she doesn't pull any of them. Instead she just stares at the Batarian, one finger brushing the Predator at her hip.

"Come on, how about a little brandishing for the folks at home?" Joker says. Can he help that he likes his CO with guns blazing?

The corner of Shepard's mouth curls, something between a smirk and a sneer, and it intimidates the Batarian into moving the meeting along.

A few minutes later, Shepard breaks some kid's gun with her bare hands. Joker should probably find that more disturbing than he does, but it's almost a little hot. It doesn't even look hard.

After the mechs have been sabotaged, and the ground team stands waiting to cross the bottlenecked bridge, Joker closes Miranda and Jacob's comms. "Wrote you a poem, Commander."

"What?" Her vid feed upends as she rolls into cover. The merc in front of her doesn't have a chance.

"You know, like we talked about.

There once was a man from Arcturus-"

The cackle of her laughter rewards the first line, and Joker waits until the pop of gunfire quiets to continue.

" Who learned how to pilot a space bus.

He took down a Reaper,

In a volcano flew deeper,

That he's handsome is only a plus."

"Jeff, I can't aim while I'm laughing." The three freelancers that fall before her belie the statement.

The Turian has barricaded himself on the upper balcony, making the bridge into a kill shoot. Joker's seen Shepard come through worse unscathed, but she makes the run so problem-free that it almost seems as though Archangel isn't even trying.

Jacob takes a concussive round to the shoulder, but while his shields drop, the Turian doesn't send another round his way until they've regenerated.

The sound of metal feet on stairs, and then, "Archangel?"

The Turian snipes the last of the wave of mercs, then turns and pops the seal of his helmet.

It's Garrus.

Joker chokes on thin air. He hasn't seen the Turian since Shepard's funeral, and the intervening years have been anything but kind. Seems as though Joker's not been the only one to flirt with self-harming impulses. He'd willingly walked into the arms of Cerberus, and Garrus had pissed off an entire station worth of gangs.

But Garrus is genuinely surprised to see Shepard alive, which means he hadn't abandoned her like the rest. He might be a mess, but at least he's there.

The mercs return, and Shepard and Garrus turn from their conversation to fight.

The attack drags on for hours, and Garrus is visibly fading. Too many days of stims would be Joker's guess. Still, it looks like everything is going as planned. One more wave, and the team will be able to return to the _Normandy_.

The ship's scanners ding. "Incoming gunship, on your eleven," Joker says.

The ground team scrambles for cover, but Garrus isn't linked into the comms, so he remains standing just a second too long. His shields fall, but he rolls behind a crate before the bullets do any real damage.

Something, anger or desperation, posses Garrus, and he dives into exposure, just in time to catch a rocket to the face.

"Rolston, Chakwas," Joker radios. "Report to the shuttle now. I'm sending coordinates. Maintain distance until I give the all clear. Prepare for pickup, at least one injury, active combatants, at least one airborne."

It takes the ground team too long to down the gunship. There's no medigel for Garrus' injured face, because his damned helmet is still sitting on the balcony railing. EDI is running a probability of survival calculation for Garrus, and one of Joker's screens displays a rapidly falling number.

Finally, the gunship plummets. Joker green lights Rolston and the doc. They have maybe three minutes before the fire clears enough to allow more combatants to cross the bridge.

"Joker," Shepard's voice never wavers, but now that she's crouched over Garrus, Joker sees EDI's calculations were optimistic. "We need emergency pickup, tell Doctor-" The sound of the shuttle thrusters interrupts. "Ah," she says, "I forgot how good you are."

* * *

Joker's performing routine Cerberus monitoring- not snooping- when Garrus wakes and goes to see the Commander.

"Looks like your calculations were wrong, Thing."

"On the contrary, Mr. Moreau. I calculated a five point seven percent chance of Mr. Vakarian's survival. Your quick thinking increased that to eleven point two percent. His current health remains within predicted outcomes."

Joker slams EDI's mute button and brings up the audio from the Communication's Room.

"-sick experiments they were doing?" Garrus asks. The Cerberus thing. Does he not remember Shepard's wrath every time they cleaned out one of those labs? Does he really think she's forgotten?

"That's why I'm glad you're here, Garrus. If I'm walking into hell, I want someone I trust at my side."

There's a war on, so Joker ignores the ache in his gut and shuts down the feed. Rolston said the shuttle was flying funny, so Joker pulls up the computer log to see if he can't find the issue. It's probably the damned starboard thruster again. Maybe Garrus will be as good with shuttles as he was with the old Mako.

He's neck deep in numbers when Shepard's hand settles on his shoulder. "That was good work, Lieutenant. Thank you."

"Commander." Joker shrugs. It's not like he'd even done any flying.

Shepard moves into his line of sight. "Really, Joker, I couldn't do this without you." He shrugs again and Shepard rolls her eyes. "We're headed back stationside. Have a couple more idiots to add to the squad. Who knows, maybe this 'Veteran' is really Wrex under an assumed name."

"He sure as hell fits the dossier." There. It is the damned Thruster. Joker sends out a work order to Hawthorne. "So back to Omega already? You slept since we left Bethany Station?"

Shepard's saved from answering by the arrival of Miranda to the cockpit.

"You asked for me, Shepard?"

"Officer Lawson," Shepard inclines her head. "Two things. I'd like you to accompany me back to Omega at 1300 hours."

"Of course."

"Good. I'm also relieving you from your position as Executive Officer, effective immediately," Shepard says like she might mention they need extra coffee next time they take on supplies.

Miranda's perfect skin flushes tomato red, "You have no right-"

"I have not granted you permission to speak freely, Officer Lawson, but I will explain my orders. One time." Not that Joker's not enjoying the show, Shepard is fantastic when she's angry, but he wishes they were having this conversation somewhere he could eavesdrop but not become an unwitting biotic casualty.

"As Commanding Officer of this ship, the position of XO is mine to give. You are a critical member of my ground team, and as such, you are absent from the _Normandy_ far more than is acceptable for an XO. Moreover, you are not equipped to handle alien crew as your longstanding ties to a human terrorist organization make you suspect."

"And who will you put in my place? The Turian?" Joker wonders if he could surreptitiously film their fight. He's just about to pull up the cockpit's vid feed, when Shepard's next comment stops him dead.

" You will retain your duties as operation officer. The _Normandy_'s new XO is Lieutenant Moreau. "

"You're kidding." Miranda says, so he doesn't have to.

"You are dismissed, Officer Lawson. I will see you in the airlock when we are ready to leave."

Joker's jaw is hanging open.

"Sorry for springing that on you." Shepard sighs. "Wasn't fair of me, but congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant Moreau. Though I'm afraid it doesn't come with a pay increase." She frowns. "Probably. I honestly have no idea how Cerberus functions. Do you even draw a paycheck?"

"I'm flattered, Commander, really, but-"

"I didn't promote you to flatter you. What I told Miranda was the truth. I need someone on ship who I respect and who my crew respects. Like it or not, that's you."

He's not command material, that's a truth he knows deep in his bones. "All due respect, Commander, but I'm a recluse, and a cripple, and I don't _like _people."

"Which makes you good at calling people on their crap. Most of the time you're funny enough you don't even piss them off. You intuit the ground team's needs. You're the best man for the job. But I'm not asking, Joker. I'm your commanding officer, and if you make me pull rank, I will."

"Aye, aye, Commander." He snaps a salute. It's still a fucking bad idea, but he's not sure Miranda is a better one.

Shepard smiles, relieved and grateful. "You'll be good at it, trust me."

When the ground team leaves, EDI's voice comes over the speakers saying, "The Commanding Officer is ashore, XO Moreau has the deck." It's the most frightening thing Joker's ever heard.

* * *

A/N: The previous chapter was missing a scene break, I apologize for any confusion. Thank you to everyone who has read/commented/favorited/followed this story.


	5. Unknown

Shepard returned two hours ago with a Salarian doctor and a human merc (not Wrex, but this Massani looks just as volatile.)

Now they're waiting for the mass relay, and that's the worst thing about flying civilian. The relay lines sometimes stretch for hours, and even though Shepard's specter status has been reinstated, it doesn't offer the same line cuts the flagship of Human-Turian peace enjoyed.

The wait does afford Joker the opportunity to flip through the crew files, though. Shepard was groundside for nearly fifteen hours, and the ship is still in one piece, so he hasn't royally fucked up his new position just yet. Guess that means he ought to start taking it seriously.

Shepard comes by a little later, bearing gifts in the form of hot coffee. It's black, but he'll drink it anyway. She's engrossed in a datapad, barely nods when he says hello.

Some of these personnel files look complete. Like Jacob's. Basic family information, educational records, military service records, list of Cerberus projects, all included with dates and links to more information. Others, like Miranda's, are so full of redactions it's hard to tell if she even works for Cerberus now.

One redaction, though, is more confusing than the rest. "So what's the J stand for?" Joker asks when Shepard's file comes up. The holo is of a much younger woman in dress blues, trying to look intimidating, but coming off scared instead. Joker's not sure he'd recognize her without the nametag.

Shepard looks up, brow furrowed in confusion. "What J?"

"J. Shepard. Your files don't have your full name." Joker answers.

He's not expecting laughter, but mirth overtakes Shepard. Her eyes crinkle, and she cackles, head thrown back into the leather seat. The sound echoes across the floor. The bridge crew turn to stare in fascination as their commander completely. loses. her. shit.

It's a while before Shepard can breathe again, and she's holding her side when she finally spits out, "You're teasing me, right?"

Joker throws up innocent hands. "Hell, Shepard, I've no idea what I've just stepped in."

That makes her laugh again, more controlled, but the grin doesn't leave her face. "Anderson," she wipes a tear from her eye before continuing, "he was the one who... recruited? me off the streets."

Her smile must be contagious, because Joker can't help an answering smirk as he nods for her to continue.

"I guess you could say I wasn't the most cooperative recruit he'd ever had- I've never been one for limited options, and the choice between the Alliance and jail was pretty limited- so when he asked for my name-" Shepard blushes, as if only just aware that her story has gained an audience. No one is working at the consoles around them. Kelly has even left her post to hear better. "Well, he already knew Shepard, 'cause that's what all the Reds called me. When I wouldn't stop cussing him out long enough to tell him my first name, he said," Shepard's voice deepens into the worst imitation Joker's ever heard of the councilor, "I guess I'll just put Jackass down, then, shall I?"

Joker's not sure he's ever heard the commander curse, and the shock of it startles out a laugh. "You're shitting me."

" 'fraid not."

"Commander Jackass Shepard." Joker salutes her. "No wonder they just stuck with Shepard at the funeral."

"Can you imagine the toll on recruitment?"

"I don't know, I'd sign up in the memory of Commander Jackass. Hell, anytime you wanted to curse at your CO, you could pretend it was a gesture of admiration." Joker tugs the brim of his cap. "You're a real Jackass, ma'am."

"Try it with me, and I'll throw you out the airlock," Shepard says.

"So what _is_ your first name?"

Shepard shrugs. "No clue. Was a member of the Reds as far back as I can remember, none of them ever said if they knew."

"Shit," Joker says, like the idea's just occurred to him. "They gave the Star of Terra to Commander Jackass."

"I'm going to punch you in your face," Shepard replies. "And it was Lieutenant Jackass at the time." Her eyes are glittering.

"Wow, threatening a cripple. Really living up to your name there, aren't you, Commander?"

The work silently for almost an hour longer, until the info on Joker's screen starts blurring. He swipes the files closed. It's possible that doing his job well will mean actually talking to people. It's a prospect he's not quite brought himself to terms with.

Whatcha reading?" he asks.

"Batarian fairytales," Shepard answers.

"If it's porn, you can just say so. I promise not to be scandalized."

She snorts. "Scandalizing you is never something I worry about, Joker. But seriously, it's Batarian fairytales."

"Is it _Fornax_? If so, can I see it when you're done?"

With a roll of her eyes, Shepard hands over the datapad, and the steady glow of the screen shows... Batarian fairytales.

"Okay, first, what? Second, why? Third, Batarians have fairytales? Doesn't that seem a little... soft?"

"On the contrary, Mr. Moreau," EDI says. "All known organic species have mythical tales intended primarily for their young."

"No one was talking to you, Thing."

Shepard lays her hand on his arm. "Play nice with the AI. And to answer your question, the Batarians seem to have been the first race to come into contact with the Collectors. A lot of Batarian fairytales seem to use them as bad guys."

"And you're reading them why?"

"EDI sorted them into stories from distinct origins. Any trait which carries across might be based on fact. At any rate, the only other intel we have is a panicked Quarians data retrieved through several feet of solid steel. I'll take what I can get."

Joker hums in thought. "Okay. So what's a Batarian read to their kids?"

"Well in this one a Batarian girl murders each of her family members and delivers their bodies to a beast in exchange for a bauble to give her true love. He blows her head off after he gives over the bauble, though. It ends, 'Let not fleshly friendships and base urges compel us to sin and neglect. The Word makes its demands, and it demands obedience!'"

Joker gives a low whistle. "Wowzer. So true love conquering all isn't exactly a tenet of Batarian society I take it?"

Shepard shrugs. "It's not that much worse than something like Blue Beard. But it confirms what the others have been saying. Standard Collector behavior has been to purchase alien bodies with advanced tech. What's happening to the human colonies is a break in operating procedure."

"Any ideas as to why?"

"Not a one," Shepard replies as she finds her feet. "Alright, I'm going to go see if Mordin has anything concrete on the seeker swarms."

"The Quarian's data was that useful?"

"Apparently. Mordin made his own seeker bug, has it flying around a cage in the tech lab."

That's enough to send a chill down Joker's spine. "Shit, Shepard, that's on this floor. Some of us work here!"

"Oh don't tell me the universe's best pilot is afraid of a little bug."

"No, but a bug as big as my face? That injects people with a paralytic agent? That's just good judgment, Commander Jackass."

Shepard pulls the brim of his cap down over his eyes as she leaves.


	6. Belief

The Blue Suns merc standing between the Commander and Jedore's compound is gasping like a fish out of water, a tiny trickle of blood drying on his hip. The wound might scab over before Shepard even finishes her interrogation, but the kid certainly thinks he's dying.

"I've got a nice application of medi-gel ready to go. But if you'd rather I just kept walking?" Shepard's voice over the comms is tight with suppressed laughter, and though the vid feeds reveal only the tight lines that Joker thinks of privately as Shepard's 'good cop' face, the smirk is _there_. (Her 'bad cop' look is less a facial expression, and more the repeated firing of her Carnifex.)

Joker holds in his own laughter until the kid claims that a base full of mercs isn't equipped to fight 'goddamn commandos'.

"Yeah, Commander, how can you expect a planet's worth of armed men to fend off you, Miranda, _and _Garrus? They'd have to learn to aim the damn weapons."

Shepard smirks, and Garrus gives an open-mouthed grin that has the merc quaking in fear. Turian teeth will do that to the uninitiated.

It's a shame the boy doesn't know anything, because he's the type that spills everything. Though, truth be told, most people are when it comes to the Commander.

Once Shepard's told the poor kid to run, Lawson comes on the comms. "Cerberus protocols discourage unnecessary comm chatter on high-risk operations, Mr. Moreau." He could be wrong, but even Miranda sounds amused.

"High-risk? I think I may have the wrong feeds coming in." Lawson definitely snorts at that.

The frivolity disappears when they find the tank grown Krogan.

It's times like this, when Cerberus sends them out to join forces with madmen, murders, monsters, that it's hardest to accept the hand that feeds them. Cerberus is a soulless master. Some days Joker doubts any of them will escape that taint.

As bad as the child-like Krogan outside is, inside the compound is worse.

The first tipoff to just how monstrous this operation has become is the Asari from Saren's genophage torture labs working the front desk. Shepard lets her go, again, and Joker struggles to choke back his irritation. Shepard gives second chances- it's what she does. He ought to be grateful, as he's operating on one of his own.

When Shepard steps through the lab doors, standing there to greet her is the largest Krogan Joker's ever laid eyes on. He towers over Garrus, shoulder humps rising a foot or more over his head. Bigger than even Wrex, and standing free, not imprisoned as they've been led to believe.

"I take it you're Okeer?" Shepard asks. "You don't seem particularly caged... or grateful that we're here."

"You may claim to be here to help, but the formerly deceased Shepard is not a sign of gentle change." Okeer knows about Virmire. Joker's fists clench in fear.

"Surprised?" The warlord asks. "All Krogan should know you." The grin he gives Shepard is just this side of feral.

Miranda's hand is sparking blue, and Garrus has his riffle pointed at Okeer's head, but the Krogan's shields are still glowing, and even together there's no saying they'll be able to take him down before he can injure the Commander.

Joker pages the shuttle team and doctors to ready.

Shepard, though, seems to feel no fear. She nods, but doesn't palm her gun. A quick glance at his screens show that her shield batteries are reading fifteen percent. Enough to stop one bullet and no more.

Virmire flashes in Joker's mind, the same decision and another angry Krogan Shepard thought she could talk down from homicide. That it worked then means nothing now. Joker doesn't dare breathe.

"But I approve," Okeer says.

The monster begins to monologue. He's set out not to cure but to _purify_ the Krogan race. And worse still, Okeer's been selling his Krogan rejects to the collectors for tech. Shepard's fairy tales were right after all.

Bile rises in Joker's throat, and for a moment he thinks he might have to make a blind run for the head.

The human consideration for the disabled is rare in the galaxy, he knows. He can remember with burning clarity General Invectus' sneer as he claimed no cripple would ever pilot a Turian ship. He's seen the way the Batarians recoil from his crutches like he carries a contagion. The citadel is not home to a single disabled Asari or Salerian, and what are the odds of that if all else is equal?

"Weaklings," Okeer says about the Krogans he's rejected. Joker knows the rhetoric. Cripple. Gimp. Freak.

His skin flushes with anger, but action is not his to take. Shepard will mete out justice, and he'll pick her up afterward. It's not perfect, but it's enough.

The Commander studies the Krogan for a long moment, and then she smiles. It's a little dangerous at the edges, the sort of smirk she saves for slavers and Cerberus scientists.

But then Shepard offers the monster a place on her team. She tells him he's worthy because he knows how to deconstruct a problem. She runs to kill Jedore at Okeer's bidding.

The merc boss might not be better than Okeer, but she's sure as fuck not worse.

Gas fills the control center, and Joker watches as EDI's survival probability for Okeer ticks downward. EDI attempts to override the base's infrastructure controls, but the system is too old and piecemeal for her databank's coverage. Joker takes his hands from the console and watches. After a moment, he rescinds the page to Chakwas and Mordin. They won't be necessary.

EDI finds an override, just as Shepard takes down Jedore. It comes too late to save Okeer, comes too late for his pure ideals to torture anymore imperfect children.

The Commander radios for a retrieval of the package, and Joker stays on deck long enough to see Shepard and her tanked Krogan safely on the ship. Then he calls up his relief and heads to crew quarters. The Commander can do whatever the fuck she wants with her perfect genetic specimen, but if she expects him to watch, well-

* * *

Two hours later, Joker can't for the life of him decide whether his anger with Shepard is justified or not. He'd like to throw himself into work, but since he stalked away from helm like a child with a temper tantrum, he's stuck with the job he enjoys a lot less. Another thing to be pissed at Shepard about.

His first stop is the med-bay, because the Doc is a lot less irritating than everyone else on this damn ship.

No. The ship is very nice. The Doc is a lot less irritating than everyone else on this damn Cerberus crew.

When the doors cycle open, Joker's treated to the sight of the Commander's bare back, Chakwas stretching to grab something from the medicine cabinet beside her.

Shepard turns her head, and on seeing him smiles, but the motion calls his attention to the still darkening bruises up the line of her spine. She'd been fine during debrief.

"What the fuck did you do?" he asks, temper sharp on his tongue. Chakwas' face falls in unconcealed shock, and the Commander blinks. Twice. Joker debates adding a belated ma'am, but decides it would only serve to highlight his disrespect. Anyway, injured or not, he's still pissed at Shepard and doesn't care if she knows.

"Let our baby Krogan out of his tank. He felt the need to challenge my authority as his _Commander_," Shepard places the barest emphasis on the last word, just enough to call him out on his behavior. "The situation is resolved now. Our new crewman's name is Grunt."

Right, because of course she thought that letting a potentially violent Krogan out of his tank all by herself was the way to go. And of course the Krogan was now a member of the team. Guess perfect genes were a free pass pretty much everywhere.

Perfect human, perfect cyborg, and now perfect fucking Krogan.

Chakwas opens the salve and gives him a pointed glare. Joker only realizes he's staring when Shepard asks, "Will you meet me in my quarters in fifteen, Lieutenant?"

"Aye, aye, Ma'am."

By the time she reaches her room, he's once again laid claim to her swivel chair, though this time he sits straight and stiff.

"You're pissed," she says as the doors close behind her. "Tell me why."

Pieces of equipment drop as she crosses the room, revealing the body hugging suit beneath. Perfect fucking cyborg. It's an ungenerous thought, but one Joker can't let go of. Shepard's been nearly naked in front of him twice in the last hour, and Joker's still so frustrated it barely even registers.

The anger is mostly gone now, and he just feels weary. It is not his job, he tells himself, to play disabled informant to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who can't be bothered to think for even one minute what it might be like. It's not his fucking job to explain why people like Okeer are too evil to invite along.

It's not his fucking job.

"Okeer," he says.

She sighs. "What about Okeer?" Shepard has no fucking right to sound upset with him.

"You thought I'd be okay with inviting him along? Oh, bring on the genocidal maniacs!" He lets the chair spin so he's no longer facing her. "Please, more of the people who think I'm a waste of valuable air."

The last of Shepard's boots hits the locker with a bang. "And what was I supposed to say, Joker? That I was planning to wring every drop of Collector intel from him before handing him over to the Alliance? I needed his cooperation. I needed him _alive_."

Her gun cases thud heavily against the table, one clatters open and spills its contents on the floor. Shepard glares. "Of course he was a monster. Of course he wasn't going to be a member of the team. Who do you think I am?"

Realization of his own stupidity drips like ice water down his spine. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"You think I'm a proponent of racial purification now? That I think what he was doing to those _children _was alright?

"I'm sor-"

"No," Shepard says. "Why did you think I was okay with what was happening down there, Jeff?"

He opens his mouth to reply, only to realize he has no fucking clue. Why didn't he trust her? Why did he assume the worst?

EDI saves him the need to answer. "Mr. Moreau, we are experiencing unusual gravitational pull on our FTL course. Officer Hawthorne requests your presence in the cockpit."

He needs to say something, but no words come.

"Go." Shepard waves him off. "Just go."

Her closed door isn't enough to muffle the thud of fist against metal as he waits for the elevator to descend.


	7. Again, Again

The Normandy slides out of FTL without a hitch, and the board lights up green. She glows, pleasant, and the sight is like a newborn's sleepy smile to him. She's his baby, and Joker doesn't care if that makes him a sap.

The green lights running the length of the display are the safety of every member of Joker's crew. Until the last of them has turned red and the emission sink needs dumped, the Normandy is completely invisible. At least so long as the Geth keep to their strict no windows policy.

They hit this system in the middle of the Normandy's night cycle, so the deck is perfectly quiet but for the hum of the drive core and the skeleton crew's slow movements.

"We're wasting our time." Trust Pressley to ruin a good thing. He's always grumpy when he pulls a night shift. "Four days up and down this sector, and we haven't found any sign of Geth activity."

"Come on, Pressley. We found that ancient Asari pop station, and we all saw you dancing."

Pressley frowns, but before he can respond, Mandi, the new ensign- works on Joker's downtime mostly- interrupts, "Picking up something on the long-range scanners." She's not bad looking. A little on the quiet side. Competent though, which is why he hadn't made Jefferies stay when his shift was over. Also because Jefferies is fucking annoying. The worst thing Joker can say about Mandi is that she uses a nickname that makes her seem about twelve years old. "Unidentified vessel, looks like a cruiser."

The data comes up his displays. No known matches, and with specs like that, Joker doubts it's a junker. Good for Mandi to get a little action. Maybe if she keeps it together Shepard will approve a few shift changes for Jefferies.

"Cruiser is changing course, now on intercept trajectory."

Shit. What?

The board's still green. There's no way anyone should be able to intercept them. "It's not the geth," Joker says. His mind races, but there's only one explanation.

It's the fucking Reapers.

"Brace for evasive maneuvers!"

Joker pulls the Normandy into a barrel roll, and the combined efforts of both the dampeners and his seat brace aren't enough to keep Joker from slamming into the dash. His knee burns, best guess both his patella and tibia are broken.

The rear vid feed shows the foreign ship gaining on them. It looks massive against Alchera, blocking out the planet's reflected light. Nothing that huge should move that quickly out of FTL. Its beam fires, and the Normandy shudders with the impact.

"Pressley!" Mandi cries, but the noise is nearly drowned out by the scream of alarms. Fire on deck. The smoke filling the bridge deploys his breather, and Joker races to put it on. The seal suctions against the skin of his face, recycled air pulling the smoke away from his watering eyes.

Joker guesses they can take two more hits before the smoke doesn't matter. The kinetic shield is already down, and the mass effect field which supplies their air pressure in case of hull breach won't last long. Pressley and Mandi are both silent behind him.

Time slows.

The Normandy is equipped with a series of Mattox 10-S escape pods. They're civilian grade, made for the big tour ships, chosen because they're compact, ideal for a stealth frigate not meant for active combat.

Only one problem. The fucking pods don't fly. Which means once they're deployed, the crew inside will be sitting ducks for the Reaper ship.

Joker pulls the Normandy's nose hard port towards Alchera. "Come on, baby. Just a little further." The planet's gravity is their best hope.

Kaidan's voice over the comms is angry. "Joker, evac! Now!" Joker's ignored the orders flashing across his screen this long, they can wait a bit longer.

"Sorry, LT." It's a struggle to keep the fear from his voice. But Kaidan's a competent co-pilot, he could get the Normandy into Alchera's orbit. If he command Joker to change places, well, Joker's not sure he'd be brave enough to refuse. So he layers on the smug arrogance as he replies, "Not abandoning ship. I'll pick you all up after I lose these bastards."

Kaidan's string of profanity is cut with the press of a button.

Half the sensors are gone, either blown away or jostled out of calibration badly enough to be useless. Even so, the Normandy flies better than half the shuttles Joker used to pilot back on Arcturus. Shame to let such a beautiful ship crash through atmo. They pass the distance of stable orbit, and the ship begins to fall. He's aimed just right, though. The crew should have plenty of time to evacuate.

Joker spins his chair, ready to run, but the sight behind him turns his blood cold. The bridge has become a maze of tangled steel and burning equipment. One of the support beams has pierced through the co-pilot's seat beside him, ceiling now moaning in protest at half its usual height. The wreckage isn't likely something he could clear at the best of times, and with the new break in his knee? Impossible.

Alchera is beautiful when he turns around. White and glistening. Joker sinks back into his seat. He will hold the Normandy steady as long as he can. He will hold the line. He thinks of Kirrahe and smiles. Thinks of Ash and her fierce determination, and his fear melts away.

The display marks the launch of each pod. All but one shoots towards the ice below.

"Come on, baby. Hold together. Only a little longer now." Joker wonders if the black box will be recovered, wonders if he should record a last message for Gunny and his mom and dad. If he starts, though, there are things he might say, things he might confess-

The art-grav is the next to go. Only a minute until the mass effect field disappears. Not enough time for confessions. No, there is only enough time to think how beautiful, how infinite space is from his pilot chair. Only enough time to breathe in the light of the stars. There are worse ways to go.

"Jeff!"

Shepard must have overridden the comm link mute. He wonders how long before the distance grows too great, how long before the failing technology severs them. Does she know he's not on one of the other escape pods? Will she be sorry to be without him when her feet touch Alchera's icy surface?

Shepard's hand finds his shoulder.

"Come on, we have to get out of here!" No. Not Shepard. No. She needs to leave. Now.

"I won't abandon the Normandy!" He'll slow Shepard down, and there's precious little time. "I can still save her!"

He can still save _her_.

"The Normandy's gone." Her gauntlets are bruising where they curl around his arm, but the determination in her eyes is bright.

Fear and hope claw back into consciousness. And Joker doesn't want to die, not like this. There could still be time. He struggles to his feet, Shepard supporting his weight, because not even adrenaline is enough to make his broken leg weight-bearing. There could still be time.

In the end, of course, there isn't.

"Commander!" he screams as a blast tears her away from him. "Shepard!" The pod doors slam shut. No. No. No.

The pod ejects, the force throwing him against the wall, and then there is only pain.

* * *

It's common practice for the Commander to eat her meals in the mess, she switches shifts once a week so that she's available to each member of the Normandy. And so no one feels undue scrutiny. It can be hard to eat in the presence of a legend.

It's Joker's bad luck that their falling out happened while she's taking meals with his shift.

The tension remains, and Joker knows he's caused it. So now rather than sitting next to her, he's a table away, sneaking glances at her when she's not looking. There is so much he needs to say, but deep down, Joker is a coward. Alchera taught him that.

The Commander eats with the most exquisitely correct table manners he's ever seen. Most biotics- hell, most marines- shovel food into their mouths like it's their last damn meal, but not Shepard. Every bit of food is cut into uniform bites, and between each taste of food, Shepard takes a sip of water. Every three bites she dabs her mouth with a napkin. Bite. Sip. Bite. Sip. Bite. Sip. Dab.

She still eats a biotic portion size, but it takes her nearly the whole hour, and for a woman who is usually so damned efficient, the exercise in manners is mindboggling.

Kelly grabs the Commander's attention, though she continues to eat. Bite. Sip. Bite. Sip. Bite. Sip. Dab. Like a machine. Joker hides a grin. It's a joke she'd appreciate, if they were speaking.

Shepard turns and catches his eye. Shit. Joker drops his eyes to his own plate, cheeks burning. What is he _doing?_

"Joker!" It's not the first time Garrus has said his name, if the irritation thrumming in his subvocals is any indication.

"What?"

"Your tongue is hanging like a Varren's."

"Fuck you." Joker says. It's not like he's been that obvious. And she's Commander fucking Shepard, if he wants to look a little, well, it's not like he's the only one.

"I'm flattered." Garrus grins. "But it didn't seem like I'm the one you were staring at."

The Turian cultural training made mandatory for the crew of the SR-1 has exactly one payoff. Vulgarities. Joker runs a finger over the bridge of his nose.

Garrus just laughs. Maybe something's lost with additional fingers? Joker settles for flipping the bird.

But then he's distracted from their conversation by the movement of the Commander across the mess. She drops her tray with Gardener, and Joker can see it's still half full. There are bags under her eyes, made gaunter by the glowing orange of her scars. Has she slept since Miranda woke her?

Her boots turn towards him, and fuck if it's not the third time in ten minutes he's been caught staring at her.

She doesn't seem offended, though, and Shepard settles into the seat beside him, close enough that her thigh just barely brushes his own. She swipes an orange slice from his plate and pops it into her mouth. But they're fighting, right? Joker's too confused to even protest at her pirating ways.

"Hey Lawson, have a sec?" Shepard calls across the mess. Miranda looks up from what looks to be an intense conversation with Jacob (though Taylor could make a conversation about the weather tense).

"Shepard," Miranda says as she sits beside Garrus. "You called?" There are overtones of censure in her voice, and Joker can see Shepard trying to hold in her irritation. Still, Miranda didn't directly call Shepard out, which is a marked improvement.

"I want your input on our next mission."

"And the comm room wouldn't be a better choice of locations?"

The Commander quirks one eyebrow at the other woman and waits. It's a long, tense moment as the two women stare each other down. Shepard doesn't have it in her to admit defeat, so Joker feels the stutter of his own relieved breath when Miranda ducks her head. "Of course, Shepard. What did you need?"

"Take a look at this," Shepard says, pulling up the virtual display on her omni. A couple of clicks, and the holo resolves into an image of an ark ship, though judging from the design it must be at least a decade old.

"When I said I wanted a hamburger made of real cow-"

Shepard shoots him a grin. "This is the location of our next potential recruit. "Convict named Jack, being held in Purgatory, maximum security private prison."

"Private prison?" Garrus asks, his police sensibilities ruffled.

"Blue Suns owned and operated. They make most of their money threatening to release prisoners onto colonized worlds, though rumor has it they also run something of a slaving ring."

"Cerberus bought us a con? Why does no one ever spring for the sexy women's warden model?" Joker asks. Miranda hums in irritaiton.

"You can't mean to trust the Blue Suns to just hand him over," Garrus says.

"I don't. That's what I wanted to talk about. I want to break in."

Joker smirks. Stealth maneuvers on a boat this size are why he went to flight school. "Yes," he says. "Absolutely. When do we leave?"

Garrus crows his agreement, and for a moment it really does feel just like old times.

"And how do you propose to break in to a maximum security prison ship, Shepard?" Miranda asks. "The Illusive Man has no doubt paid good money for this prisoner's release, and-"

"This ship makes it's livelihood by landing on poor colonized planets and threatening to release their prisoners if their operating expenses aren't met. We're coming out of there with more than just Jack." Shepard swipes another orange slice from his plate, and she's the fucking Commander, Joker's pretty sure Gardener would give her seconds. "Garrus, any chance you have C-Sec connections that could help with the extra cargo?"

"Consider it done, Shepard."

The mess is quiet and empty but for their party by the time everything is decided. Shepard stands, and the loss of her heat leaves Joker's leg cold. "Excellent. Joker, notify me when we pass through the relay."

Shepard heads towards the elevators, and damn him if he doesn't watch her leave, no more certain of where they stand than before.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long delay between chapters. I started a new job, which threw my writing time into chaos for a little bit. Should be back to normal now. Thanks again for reading!


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